A Happier Ever After
by CassanderRoshack
Summary: Have you ever read the Great Gatsby and wished things could have ended differently? Gatsby lives. Daisy makes a new choice. Nick takes a chance. Tom gets revenge. Find out what would have happened if their fate was not set in stone.
1. Chapter 1

Nick Carraway woke with a start from the couch of his garden home- he'd overslept. His eyes were blurred with the sleep that he'd been rudely woken from. He sat up straighter, blinking hard to rid them of the snow of matter. It was nearly four- and he'd missed his train to work a half a dozen times over- and Jordan Baker had neglected to call like she usually did going from hotel to hotel. He was sure he had finally managed to upset their relationship to a certain caliber. It didn't matter to him in the slightest; he'd grown awfully tired of these people. Their recklessness. Their hatred of everything that was not to their standing- and certainly their thought process to simply replace whatever they broke- including people.

He dragged his hand over his face with a drawn out sigh when he heard the sound that had woken him yet again. Nick stood, rubbing his eye as he went to the front door. He'd left Gatsby to his own means right after breakfast since he was going to go swim for the last time in summer and relax by his pool waiting for Nick's cousin's call. Nick frowned at the thought of Daisy- the side of him that recognized her as family told him that she wouldn't call- he wouldn't… but the side of him that had become friends with Gatsby wished that she would call- even if it was to only tell him goodbye. She was his cousin, yes, but he could easily say that she was a fool if she could not see how much Gatsby loved her. His feet took him to the wall between his plot and the looming structure of Gatsby's home. He frowned up at it, touching the fern that had grown on the wall's surface. He heard another noise and pulled it back to see a hulking man coming around the side of Gatsby's house. His brow furrowed, "Wilson?" He whispered softly, knowing the man only by what Tom had called him in that brief time he'd met him. Nick hurried to the archway between plots, not knowing really why he was so curious why- His mind told him that he already knew. Wilson would suspect a yellow car- he would suspect Gatsby. He opened the gate- that had never seen a lock before in its short life- and followed Wilson to the pool where he could see Gatsby underneath the water swimming from one side of the pool to the other.

Nick's eyes saw the shine of a pistol and heard the whispers of Wilson. He muttered about god and the all-seeing eyes of the ashes. Nick didn't pause and would later say he didn't know what came over him as he ran toward the man raising the pistol and aiming it at Gatsby. He had never been extraordinarily brave in his life. But seeing Gatsby by the pool, seeing Wilson raising the gun sparked him into action. He flew into his side, knocking him off the ground like this was simply another game of rugby in college. Wilson all but hissed at him and they wrestled with the gun. Nick was out matched easy by strength, size and will...was failing not to put himself at the end of the gun. It fired five times, the sixth drawing blood and Gatsby from the pool.

He felt the liquid on him, yet he didn't understand why he'd become wet with the substance. He managed to wonder to himself if a butler had gone past and spilt wine on them in the struggle.  
He had always been an intelligent man, though understand in that moment, his mind choose the lesser of two evils committed upon him. But alas the substance was thicker than the thin wine that inhabitants of West and East egg argued about quality of. Nick breathed rapidly through his mouth, looking to Gatsby who stood not too far away dripping on the grass. He looked down at Wilson, who was gagging on blood staring at Gatsby- not Nick- but the man who he mistakenly thought was the murderer of his wife. Nick blinked rapidly and asked the elder what to do, when he did not answer and Nick did not ask again- perhaps too afraid of what he might say later.  
Nick had killed a man- even in the war he had somehow avoided that nasty business of taking lives but alas, as far as this place seemed from the battle field, here he was standing above a dead man.

Nick was too deep in his own thoughts, too deep within his own horror to realize that Gatsby had gone into motion. Ordering men of the gangster Nick couldn't nearly remember the name of now to clean up the mess while he took Nick to the rooms upstairs in his own castle. It only took a few seconds for Nick to put two and two together and remember that he was in Gatsby's bedroom after a few moments- though not remembering how he'd gotten there. He took the younger into the bathroom- the features beautiful chrome and wood- and Nick would have commented on them if he hadn't been more scared of possible irons that would come to end his life as he knew it. And what a life it was.

When Gatsby took Nick into the restroom, he poured a tap of water into the sink and gently letting his hands inside of it. "Old Sport- Nick- come now, it isn't that serious." But the tone in his voice said it was matter that was just what he said it was not. "You saved my life, there isn't a way they can arrest you for that. Remember I have friends in the police department- they won't care about this. You saved my life." He repeated and Nick seemed to come out of his own personally created coma for just a moment. "But they blame you for Myrtle Wilson's murder… if I saved you from him getting revenge they'll think I was saving the murderer. We'll both go down for this." He said softly and looked as the blood lifted from his skin in the water and seemed to become smoke beneath its surface.

Silence filled the room after Nick's observation. He went and got a towel to wipe his hands then his face from where Wilson's blood had splattered him across his nose. Nick's eyes were wide with terror though the other man had not said a word that he was at all worried about what happened in the situation. Gatsby shook his head after a good ten minutes if not more. "No we won't, Old Sport. No we won't. Daisy has made her choice, I'm going to make mine. We're going to Atlantic City." Nick opened his mouth to protest, "But work…" He made the weak attempt to argue and Gatsby gave him a look, "You want to go back to work after all this mess?" A quiet came again, before Nick whispered softly, looking at the door to make sure he did not see the shadow of a servant there. "When… when can we leave?"

Jay Gatsby paused, not expecting this at all- or at least some more argument that what was given. He had somehow, in the grand scheme of things, traded Nick for Daisy, who was no longer going to call. He asked his butler to call for her to discover that she had left around twelve with her husband and daughter to some unknown location. It seemed as though some sort of strange fate had been dealt to him and now Nick was being dragged in with it- how horrible. He had spent his entire life trying to make things perfect for her for her to disappear without a word. Perhaps Daisy was kidnapped by him- no, she was a smart girl and she wouldn't go where she didn't have to. She had left him and now both Nick and he had to suffer for it- surely he'd never forgive her. Gatsby shook his head slightly at the thought coming out of his thoughts to focus on the problem at hand, "I'm not sure. But soon- before Wilson decides to rise from his grave like Bram Stroker loves to portray in his books and come after us." Nick made a soft laugh and shifted, "I didn't think you liked fiction."

Another pause and a faint whisper, "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, old sport."


	2. Chapter 2

"Don't you dare threaten me!" She screeched at Tom, their daughter staring at her bunny rabbit in her hand a few feet away on the couch, dressed to go on their 'vacation' that they didn't want to go on. "I am not one of your cheap whores!" He had her by the wrist, "Our little girl is sitting right there!" He spat at her, the smell of alcohol on her breath. "I don't care! I'll take her and leave you! Leave you where you stand and you'll never go out with your skanks and your pearls or-" Her make-up ran down her face, black rivers forming down her cheeks as small pale hands in fists that shook as she yelled at him, "Let me call him! At least tell him I'm not coming!" Tom shook his head, "You'll be lucky to ever use a phone again- I'll be damned if my wife runs around on me!" She made a laugh that sounded more bitter than wine that lay shattered a few feet away from them. "You're nothing but a hypocrite! I huge- elephant size- hypocrite! How many girls have you slept with?!"

He snorted drinking back his bourbon with narrowed eyes, "What does it matter, I'm your husband!" She raised her hands in the air, voice shrill, "It matters because the time I get someone I care about you keep me away! I would have loved to see what you would have down if I barred you from the phone for your dear Myrtle Wilson!" A hand shot out and back handed her across the mouth, "Don't you EVER say her name!" He yelled back and Pamela started crying on the couch. Daisy blinked at him in shock before going to her daughter and holding her close. He seemed to realize what he did and backed away, "I'm sorry- You brought- You brought it on yourself by seeing him." Daisy looked up at him, blue eyes smudged with black eye liner as she quieted her little one. "I won't use the phone again." She whispered looking away and he nodded, "Good." Before shifting and calming himself, "Pack your things, Daisy. We're going on that vacation and we're going to be a family and enjoy it." She nodded, going up the stairs to make-up on the rapidly forming bruise. Her daughter looked up at her mother with tears still on her eyes. Tom patted her on the hair and she lowered her head, flinching away from him.

~~~

Nick stared out the window as they rode on the train to Chicago. His eyes were glued to the trees that passed them by in such a way he felt nearly sick. George Wilson had been buried roughly eleven feet vertically down on the grounds of Gatsby's home, the gun buried with him. Six feet below, was one of the dogs that Gatsby sometimes used to hunt with that was very sick. It seemed funny to Nick that Gatsby knew just how to hide a body, but at this point in their relationship, he stopped asking such questions. He rubbed his eyes, hat low over his eyes. The police would undoubtedly be breaking down the door to Gatsby's house to find it strikingly empty and gates forever closed.

In retrospect, Nick wondered what it would be like if Gatsby had died when Wilson aimed that gun instead of hitting the side of the pool and bouncing off. Would Gatsby float or would he sink with the amount of lead in his body. Would his blood rise like mist in the water like his own hands had done when he submerged them in the sink in Gatsby's bathroom? His eyes settled on the floor and he pushed those images out of his head and imagined that those gates would never open again- though the situations were completely different, they ironically had the same ending. The grass was going to grow and take over the lawns again- here he was on a train running for his young life while fretting over the grass. Gatsby was watching him quietly, "What's the matter, old sport?"

Nick's gaze steadied on him, "My thoughts run away with me." He simply said and he rose an eyebrow. "How so?" There was a pregnant pause between them, "I've never done this before- with anyone. Yet here we are. With a man I barely knew not a month ago and with my hands permanently stained." He didn't seem to take offence surprisingly, but gave a strangely understanding smile like he usually could only produce to Nick. "I know. I've spent my entire life creating a castle of a glass that I had no idea that would shatter with a softened whisper of 'no' and a bullet." The image in Nick's head shattered exactly how he described and sighed softly, "What makes you think Chicago is safe for us?" They were in a private car, so he didn't believe that they could be overheard besides anyone but the butler- who had enough problems of his own with a bottle of gin.

"I have friends there, old sport." He fought the urge to hit him suddenly; the 'old sport' comment had never annoyed him until now. "You have friends that can be trusted." Nick almost scoffed and was reminded of his own friends. Daisy, who had caused all of this. Tom, who had been more brutal then he could have imagined and Jordan who was nothing more than a- "Yes, friends that I can trust. I've gotten us out of New York. I think that much you can believe that I'm for both of our well-being." There was another pause, "And why do you care what happens to me? You could easily pin everything on me." Gatsby took a dark look upon his face, "If you think I'm willing to pin my mistakes on someone I call a friend then you are sadly mistaken, Mr. Carraway." His voice was hard and Nick immediately felt cause to apologize. "I- I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I'm frazzled and to be quite honest with you, a little scared of this outcome. You've been kind to me- enormously kind- and I shouldn't turn my nose up at it." Gatsby nodded, "Apology accepted, old sport. You saved my life and I can understand. The act was… sudden and not exactly in the better places of things a man like yourself could do- though there was no other choice to be done. I owe you my life."

Nick nodded, though he felt far from a hero that Gatsby demanded him to see himself as. He was glad that he had saved Gatsby, but not so happy he had caused the gun to go off to kill the once gentle giant of George Wilson. Perhaps he would face up to it when Saint Peter came to ask him his sins- only then would he be freed from it. Gatsby smiled at him again, patted his knee and got up to pour him a glass of scotch and himself just simple water not being much a drinker. Nick accepted the glass with a soft word of thanks before nursing it in his hands. Perhaps this was what he was supposed to do all along. Return to Chicago of all places and try to work from there. What on Earth would his family think?

"Old sport, I wanted to bring up an idea to you." Nick raised his eyebrow, "Yes?" Gatsby was watching out the window as well. "I have a feeling that Chicago may not be the best place for us after all to run to." The younger swallowed a generous amount, "Didn't you just say that you had friends there?" Gatsby nodded, "Of course I do! But I believe I have… better friends in California. The cities are amazing and San Francisco is the city of tomorrow." He replied nodding to himself before continuing, "Chicago has seen its time and you can start completely anew there in California. Movie stars and casinos." He smiled, "With my connections we wouldn't have to worry at all, old sport."

His eyes narrowed at him for a moment, taking another sip. It was like the man had read his mind. He wouldn't have to face the group of friends to know something truly terrible must have happened for him to lose his job and move back to Chicago. His family would nearly disown him. His eyes cut into the other passenger that passed by before nodding, "California it is."


	3. Chapter 3

He stared, open mouthed at the giant structure of the red bridge. His eyes were wide his open mouth was smiling. "This is amazing! An architectural marvel!" Nick went onto to say, gesturing to it as if it would stand and take a bow after showing some sort of talent on a stage. Gatsby stood not too far away with a hat low on his brow and smiling at it too, though with less awe like he had seen it a hundred times before. Perhaps he had in Nick's view- though he knew Gatsby was only a man from the Midwest and his family was truly farmers, he did not know whether Gatsby had actually been to San Francisco before- and if he had- he was acting very well that this was home to him.

Nick, for a moment, wished he had not been from his family had been. That he had taken his life by the reigns like Gatsby and changed his life the way he wanted. Though he realized in that same moment, that he had never really had any complaints until recently because he had decided to stop Wilson. He had always had plenty of money, gone to the best schools, gotten good work- even though he had had to ask his family's permission- there was still a rift between him Gatsby that had been created by fate and a bank account. He had never thought about it before that he had never gone through the things that Gatsby had. He had never pined after a girl, dealt with a drunkard such as Dan Cody, and most definitely never had to work and sometimes starve on a farm. His eyes turned to him and Gatsby raised his eyebrows. "What's the matter, old sport?"

He shook his head, "Nothing… Just thinking that you are quite dauntless." Nick turned away from him to look upon the bridge again. Gatsby didn't say anything for a moment or two before thanking him and recommending lunch. He wanted to agree, though wondering how the man could think about getting food when they were in search of jobs and let alone a hotel to stay in. He had his suitcase by his side as he walked with Gatsby down the main street of San Francisco not too long after their sightseeing. Gatsby seemed at ease more than Nick was, smiling and dipping his hat at a few people who smiled back and greeted him. "You've been here before?" Nick asked a few inches behind him and Gatsby nodded, "Of course, old sport. I've been all over this country. Business, you understand. Which we'll be soon in again and making money. Don't worry, I had a plan coming here." Nick muttered that he hadn't been worried as much as in the dark about the situation before following him into a hotel that seemed far out of the price range of his existing wallet.

Gatsby paid for an apartment for a week and they went up. Two bedrooms and an ideal view- which was no surprise at that point. If it were only one thing that Nick Carraway knew about Jay Gatsby, it was that he liked the finer things in life and had worked too hard to not have it. Which, how could one blame him, with what he had inferred about him. Nick moved to sit on the couch after putting his things away, Gatsby taking up the armchair with his legs crossed. It was cold now and he ordered room service. Nick nodded that he agreed to what he ordered- it was French so he agreed though not knowing what it really was. "What were you talking about when you mentioned about you had a plan for our working?" Gatsby shrugged his shoulders, a long fluid motion that seemed too simple an act for him. "We're Californians now, old sport. We have to work with them and go on with our lives. I have a friend of ours meeting us for lunch, he'll be glad to know that I'm continuing to work with him. Meaning the man who saved my life will be graciously welcomed into the circle."

Nick was silent for a moment, "And this circle… it's illegal, isn't it." Gatsby took a look on his face, similar to the one he'd given Tom when he had called him a bootlegger so long ago. In that moment, Gatsby knew he had to lie to keep Nick focused on their goal. "My business is in the act of transporting alcohol, yes. That is temporarily illegal. In California, it's not. It's cheap, helps the economy and keeps us off the street along with many other people, old sport." The younger waved him off, "I was just asking if I had to worry about jail here as well. I understand what alcohol does for the economy and… at this point, I'm not sure if I mind going into the business now." His morals had certainly been tested lately and now here was, doing something illegal in most states. Oddly enough, he didn't feel as honest as once thought himself to be- nor did he feel regret for just technically telling him he would be more than happy to join his 'circle'. His eyes looked away from Gatsby who nodded his understanding to a point but didn't verbally answer him. There was a knock on the door and Gatsby stood, straightening his pearl colored suit and opened the door. Meyer Wolfshiem dipped his hat to Gatsby and Nick, two others of his associates- one Nick recognized from Gatsby's house and the other was a woman that he didn't recognize- entered in behind. "Nasty business, Mr. Gatsby. Nasty business. Entire New York is looking for you and I'm almost afraid of working with you with how much heat you've got on your tail." He told Gatsby in a deep aggravated accent. "You calling me across the country for this meeting isn't orthodox either."

He seemed to remember Nick and touched the woman's shoulder. Her long blond hair was draped down her back. She looked oddly familiar but yet... she was completely different than the wild woman I had met in the apartment so very long ago. "Cathy darling, take care of Mr. Carraway while Mr. Gatsby and I speak." She nodded, her face familiar to him but knowing where from. He was standing and she gripped his arm, pulling him toward one of the rooms. He tried to pull his grip from her, but her nails went into his skin. "You should follow me." She whispered to him, pulling him into the room and shutting the door behind her. Cathy was dressed in male's clothing, a clean cut and pin striped suit. A pistol came out of her jacket and he put his hands up, backing away from her slowly, "If you are smart, Mr. Carraway, you won't call for Gatsby." Her voice was soft behind full pink lips. Her hazel eyes cut into his. "My name is Catherine… I'm Myrtle's sister." She came closer, pushing him down on the bed, the gun pointed at his chest still. "I'm going to ask you a question. And if I don't like your answer, then I'm going to kill you. If I do. You will live. Simple." She said the last word with a elongated syllables, like it was to comfort him.

"Did Jay Gatsby kill my sister and her husband?" Nick swallowed. Of course, he could say yes and be cleared for everything. If Catherine was a part of what he thought she was- which made since. Of course Wolfshiem would use a woman to do his dirty work, who would suspect a woman?- she had the power to clear his slate now he could return to New York without any trouble. But on the other hand… He'd be betraying his friend- the only one helping at the moment and he didn't even know the name of the hotel they were in- for a crime he didn't commit. His voice stalled a moment and Catherine put the gun to his forehead. "NO!" He nearly shouted then said softer, "No, he didn't kill either of them." Was suddenly Gatsby the most innocent man he knew? Strange.

Catherine paused, "Then who did." Nick swallowed, he couldn't say Daisy. He just couldn't. His eye went wide and she narrowed her own. "The yellow car only had Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan inside. If he didn't kill her. That means Mrs. Buchanan did. I don't really care about George, the liar got what he deserved though... it makes sense that he went to kill Gatsby and you stopped him since you would be the only one around at the time..." He couldn't hold the look of shock on his face as she figured it out with pure logic in seconds while the police was still baffled. Catherine smiled and backed away, gun descending. Just by the look on his face she knew she'd guessed right, "That's all I needed. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Carraway. I'll make sure Meyer rewards you greatly for it." She left before he could say anything else.

Gatsby came in a while later, saying nothing and sat down beside him. He looked pale and so did Nick. "I supposed they threatened to kill you too?" Nick asked Gatsby with a tight voice, Gatsby nodded. "Apparently the past does come back to haunt you…" he looked down at his hand, "And you most certainly… can't turn back time." He sighed putting his face in his hands. A ball of stone had formed in Nick's gut. He thought about Daisy and hoped to God she had gone far out of the country. Far… far… out of the country.


	4. Chapter 4

"Why does Wolfshiem care about what happened to the Wilson family?" Nick asked, nearly jogging to keep up with Gatsby as the late night air swirled around them. The elder didn't answer for another minute, a pause long enough for Nick to wonder if he heard him at all, "I suppose he doesn't. More over Catherine is pushing him to pursue the problem to find her sister's killer. Not to mention, Wilson owed a lot of money to Wolfshiem. If he's dead, he can't repay that money. And do you believe that Myrtle was only sleeping with Tom?" He glanced at him and Nick took a look on his face. "But…" He bit his lip, how on Earth did this all tie together that perfectly and still be this much of a dramatic theater of angst? His long coat fluttered a bit as he kept up with his brisk pace, "Where are we going?" Gatsby shook his head, "Better if you don't know, old sport. I would have preferred to leave you at the hotel but I don't want anything to happen while I'm away, understand?" There was a pause before Nick grunted with one eyebrow raised to a point of near irritation, "Not really."

Gatsby smirked at that, "Good. The less you know the better you'll feel." And with those words Nick put things together, "You're doing a job for Wolfshiem?" The taller nodded slowly, "Nothing too serious. He just needs a man he can trust to supervise a shipment of some cargo into this port." As he said it the pathway they were walking down between two large buildings opened into a wide port, two ships were moving in and dropping anchor. Nick swallowed, "What sort of cargo?" Gatsby sighed, growing tired of the questions directed at him all at once. "I don't know, old sport. I assume alcohol." Nick had a funny feeling about the way he said 'assume'- still not completely trusting him about his previous statement that that was all he worked in. Tom went to the same school as Nick did, but he rarely hit things on the hammer like knowing Gatsby was only a bootlegger. Something else that Tom had a teacher back at Yale preach at him was never use the word 'assume'; it always made an 'ass out of you and me'. The memory didn't bring a smile like it usually did for him and nodded, "Alright… let's get this over with. Just… show me what to do. I got myself into this I might as well do something."

Gatsby looked at him strangely before nodding, "Stay with me. I'll guide you through it." Nick didn't comment again, his eyes down cast as many men looked at him like he was the lowest scum of the earth. It made him quiver in anger how they could turn their nose up at him when they were the ones covered in tattoos and spat tobacco where someone's shoes could easily be marred with the black gunk. For once Daisy's reference to him as a rose seemed strangely real. He wasn't fragile… but he believed in the finer things, but he had thorns that were bigger than Gatsby's- who looked so much calmer than he should have in that area full of hulking men and women who barely had any clothing on with bottles in their hands that were thrown back once too often into their broken teeth filled mouths. They watched the shipment role in and Nick was looking the entirely wrong direction he should have been.

A box came tumbling from the top of the ship. Gatsby grabbed him and pushed them both off the edge of the dock. Nick pulled his torso back on top of the dock, the elder behind him. The box lay broken were they were standing a few moments ago. Guns, the types that you saw in movies firing upon helpless police men, lay scattered in the wooden wreckage. Nick looked to Gatsby to see mirrored shock and anger. Gatsby lifted himself up the rest of the way, pulling up Nick as well. They cleaned up the split mechanize as Wolfshiem would have called it and went home roughly five in the morning, having not spoken since the discovery. Nick was immediately upon Gatsby once they had walked back into the little apartment, "You told me it was alcohol!" Gatsby was quiet before muttering, "I thought it was, I have never been involved with anything else, old sport." Nick yelled, "Stop!" Gatsby stopped moving- perhaps breathing with the ferocity of the yell. After a moment of stillness the elder dared to ask what he wanted him to stop. Nick nearly snarled at him, "Calling me 'old sport'. My name is Nick! Not Old Sport. Not Mr. Carraway. NICK! You would do well to remember it! And like Hell you've never been involved with anything else!"

Gatsby shifted a bit and nodded, "Alright… the truth then. I was in the business of making fake bonds. I never transported alcohol, I find it quite disgusting to be even more honest." Images of Dan Cody in his drunken fits flashed in Gatsby's mind. There was silence and Nick sat back down. "Is that why you brought me?" The elder shook his head, "You saved my life." Nick snarled at him, suddenly finding an anger at him that had been swelling since he knew the rich replaced their broken people with new ones and life wasn't what he expected, "I'm starting to regret that decision. Don't lie to me anymore, Gatsby." He spun on his heel, walking back to his bedroom. Gatsby called after him, "And what would you have done if I had told you the truth?" He came after him, "You would have stayed in New York and been in jail- now you don't trust me because of a lie I told you to protect you from yourself!" Nick laughed humorlessly, "Really and how were you protecting me from myself?" Gatsby paused before breathing out, "Because you would have tried to leave. And you need me."

Now it was Nick's turn to be silent and think carefully at what Gatsby had just told him. In a way, he was right. He knew nothing about California, nor could he return to his family after everything that had happened, and Wolfshiem was more than a small problem. He did need Gatsby. "And I need you." Gatsby told him again softly, "Meyer wants two men and there isn't another I trust as much as I trust you at this moment. I'm sorry I lied to you but if you leave we're both going to be killed." Nick looked up into his eyes, anger still in his features but he had calmed considerably. "I'll stay. But no more lies." He told him with finality, quieter he added, "I won't stand for you dropping to their level."

Again with that stupid understanding smile. It didn't occur to him how his feelings toward Gatsby influenced his opinion of that smile. At first he had thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world, now it seemed more annoying than the speech he had just give him. Gatsby knew exactly who he was referring to and he nodded, "No more lies, I promise." Nick nodded, "I'll hold you to that." He turned, "I'm going to bed. There has been enough excitement for one night." And with that, the door closed in Gatsby's face. With a sigh Gatsby answered, "Goodnight, Nick."


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a week since Nick had seen the true shipment of Wolfsheim's and a week since Gatsby and himself had had a proper conversation. Nick was on the couch, rubbing his temples after coming back from a very grueling interview with a shop owner down the street. He had mentioned to Gatsby that they needed work, and he wasn't going to be involved with illegal activates forever. Of course, Gatsby had agreed and commented that he wasn't planning on it either before they both had gone silent. They'd taken to cleaning the apartment themselves instead of the maids since Catherine would sometimes drop of cases of 'something' to deliver- those Gatsby took the liberty of taking to their proper location. The elder picked up a leather back notebook, frowning slightly knowing it certainly wasn't his. He opened it, on the other side of the room from Nick. "Is this yours?" Gatsby asked in awe, reading over some of the papers. Nick opened one of his eyes, doing a double-take. "Yes, why are you-" Gatsby waved him off, "I was just tidying up the room when I noticed it. I wasn't trying to get in your business." He turned a page, "You're a phenomenal writer."

Nick shrugged one shoulder, deciding that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if he looked. They were simply college essays and articles of things he'd recently thought about. Nothing more. Most were hand written and hard to read, though Gatsby seemed to pay no attention to it. Then again, Gatsby seemed to read whatever he got his hands on- including the back of the menus were few looked at restaurants to see the history of the establishment. He continued and frowned at something, "What's this about Jordan?" Nick sat up, immediately realizing what he had been writing and getting up to take the notebook away from him. "It's nothing. She's already made her statement about what's to happen between her and I. Writing brings me solace sometimes." Gatsby frowned, "Out of respect, I won't ask. But I do have to mention why you aren't a writer as a permanent position." Nick turned to him, eyes narrowing, "What do you mean?"

Gatsby made a face gesturing to the air like the sentence would appear there, "Exactly what I said! Why not become a writer instead of getting headaches to work in stores that you had an education to own not to work in." Nick looked at the leather book in his hands still and sat down, "What would I write about?" Gatsby smiled coming to sit in front of him, his smile became a grin, "Write about us." There was a short laugh, "And why would I do that?"

Gatsby hadn't lost the luster in his eyes, "You said that writing brought you solace." Nick seemed to begin to smile and shake his head at how Gatsby looked at him with such reverence that he nearly turned his gaze, "It didn't bring anyone else much solace... I wasn't any good in my opinion." Gatsby shook his head, "That's just it! You are wonderful!" He pointed at him, "If you're here working then I highly doubt that you will ever need to do an illegal thing again. You'll be too busy and Wolfsheim likes work ethic, my friend." He patted him on the knee before offering him a pen out of his inside jacket pocket, "And if you don't like it. No one need ever read it. You can always burn it." Nick carefully took the pen from him, considering the challenge that Gatsby had unwarily issued to him, "Alright. I'll do it."

xXxxXx

Dice bounced their way down the roulette table while Tom Buchannan whooped his excitement. They landed on snake eyes and he grinned, "Oh yeah! Come to papa!" He laughed as the men patted his back and women hung off his arm. He held the dice to one lady's blood red lips, "Blow, doll. You're giving me a lucky streak." She formed her lips in a perfect 'o' before blowing on the dice and they flew down the table once again to win him more money. Daisy sat not too far away, make-up caked on her face as she spoke softly for gin at the bar. She didn't look at her husband, examining her nails as she heard him cat call as a flapper walking by in her short black dress. They were more risqué here than they ever were in Chicago and New York- though that didn't seem to bother her anymore. It bothered her that the nanny was with her daughter while she sat her alone at a bar wondering if things would ever change. He didn't even try to hide it anymore since her affair with Gatsby.

Her eyes shut and she leaned her face on her hand, eyes lowered as the ice clanked quietly compared to the slow jazz music not too far away. The nearly clear liquid bubbled slightly. Alcohol wasn't illegal in the wonderful state of Nevada, especially in Las Vegas. This was their first stop in a total of three on their vacation. Next was Los Angeles then San Francisco, possibly Washington to see their president's faces. It would be educational for Pammy- or at least that was Daisy's argument. They weren't finished with it by no means, but Mount Rushmore would be something that she could say she had been to that didn't seem so… Her gaze looked toward her husband again before handing the bartender the tab and getting up. "If my husband takes a break for a drink, please tell him I've returned to our room." The man nodded, "Yes ma'am." Before going to fill another patron's drink. She walked to the elevator and went to near the top floor where their room was facing the other casinos. Pamela was hugging her the moment she opened the door, "Momma, momma- come look what I made!" She dragged her mother into her little room where the nanny sat with paint and smiling down at Pamela's little desk to see her artwork.

Daisy came closer, "Oh my angel that's wonderful." She whispered looking down at the painting of her and her mother which was quite good for her age. Daisy brushed her daughter's hair with her hand, "I love it. May I keep it, darling?" Pammy nodded, a smile blooming on her face and she sat in her lap. Daisy asked if the nanny would retire for the night and she nodded, leaving her with her daughter. Eventually they moved to the bed and Daisy was in the middle of the bedtime story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears when Tom banged his way into the apartment.

Daisy sighed, "I'll finish it later, my love." Closing the book with one hand, she laid it on the bedside table before turning off the light and kissing her on the forehead. "Goodnight." With that, she shut the door and went out to see him. He was holding himself up on the kitchen counter, red in the face from the alcohol. "Where is he?!" Tom snarled at her almost immediately on her way to her own bedroom. Her eyes found him and she muttered, "Where is who?" His fist hit the marble. "You know damn well who! Where is Gatsby!" There was a pause before Daisy whispered, "You're drunk. He isn't here." Tom pushed past her, checking the rooms except for Pamela's and he nodded, "Out the window then?!" He roared and went to it, wrenching it open and standing on the edge. "Did you push him out the window now he could escape me?!" He asked her and Daisy let tears fall asking him to get down before he fell. He refused and then came down moments later, "If I find him-" She took a deep breath and met her blue gaze to his brown. "You'll kill him. I know." Tom nodded to her, meeting his wet lips to hers. She could still taste the liquor on him. "You're my girl. Understand? You're my wife." Daisy nodded, looking away from his eyes to the door, "I'm your girl. I'm your wife. Not… not his."


	6. Chapter 6

Gatsby leaned over Nick to see what he was rapidly typing on the typewriter he had brought home as a gift for him. The younger didn't glance up at him, a pen hanging from his mouth at an awkward angle and eyes narrowed at the words that were beneath the ink filled piston that punched the paper with an anger that could only be compared to Jack Dempsey during a match. "Perhaps you should take a break?" Gatsby asked him quietly seeing how the eyebrows upon his face were furrowed and the sweat bead down his face. "Nick." Gatsby shook him this time and the younger looked up, "What is it?" He muttered. It was in the just the beginning of winter now and the apartment was nearly as cold as the outside- though Nick seemed to be overheated wherever he went. "You look very pale…" Gatsby leaned down to put the back of his hand to Nick's forehead to be waved off still staring at the machine in front of him. "I'm fine." Papers lay littered around the floor and Gatsby choose not to push, picking up one of the papers on the floor and reading through it. There was a pause before he turned to look at Nick, "The day Tom and I argued was your birthday?" His voice was quiet on Nick's ears, causing him to turn to see him frowning hard at the paper. Nick licked his lips, "I… Yes. It was."

Gatsby seemed to read on, before letting the paper go back into the pile, "I'm so sorry, Nick." He whipped his brow with a cloth that Gatsby had brought him a few hours ago. "Why for?" It wasn't as if he blamed him that the date had fallen on the same as that. And in hindsight, he hadn't remembered himself until afterward and he didn't believe he'd ever told Gatsby that it was his birthday at all. "I am a horrible friend at times." He muttered looking back at him, "We should go out. Celebrate." He held up his hand, "You're overheated- the night air will cool you down. Plus we can make up for lost time." Gatsby nodded like he agreed with himself.

Nick paused at the mention of going out and lost time. He'd just finished describing the death of Myrtle Wilson. There some sort of connection his mind made but his words couldn't put into action. He only nodded, agreeing softly that he could use a drink. Gatsby had nodded with a smile, getting their jackets from the side closets and handing Nick his. He stumbled getting up from the chair, "I'm a bit chilled actually though I feel hot." He chuckled, "I might be catching a cold- wouldn't be the first time in a new place." He muttered to Gatsby who opened the door for him, locking it behind once they were both out. "I've rarely been sick, surprisingly, more than likely saved me on the front in the war." Nick had to agree, a lot of men around him fell ill to a number of different things, most of them had died from it too.

It didn't take very long for them to be sitting at a bar with a hundred other people drinking and singing. Gatsby cheerfully announced it was his friend's birthday and they should celebrate such a renowned author. In minutes, Nick had signed nearly twelve books that didn't belong to him and a sailor's arm- which was definitely a first in his life- with a pen that would have sent himself into writhing. They drank and drank more- and Nick through blurred images of Gatsby and other people was reminded of being drunk only twice in his life. He found his third, only realizing that he was kissing someone in the process to laughs and catcalls. Nick couldn't see, only vaguely realizing the drink going down his throat and the steady tones of music from a trumpet. He knew the street and was so warm in his stomach that the person- he assumed was Gatsby- who was singing with him barely made it home. There was a tense moment that he hadn't a clue- the voice in his mind telling him to think but the voice quickly drowned out with a swig of alcohol- that he kissed the savior who got him home once again. The other was tripping as much as he was and they stumbled over a stack of books to end up on the couch together. He kissed them again only to be met back with just as much passion and he continued until they were both breathing hard in the darkness.

There were hands on his back and he continued to the war not knowing who he was particularly fighting. But then again, wasn't that like all wars? Tom had once told him he should meet new people but he hadn't exactly thought of it this way- shoving one's tongue down the other's throat and-. His mind cleared for just a moment to realize what he was doing with some stranger. A brief thought was where was Gatsby- then another telling him he could be kissing him right now- then another that was drowned with another swig of 'he wouldn't mind if it was'.

The next morning he had a headache that could easily be the death of him. He was on something comfortable and a bit hard. His head rested next to a beating heart and he had the realization that it- whatever it was- smelled amazing. The whisky was there but there was an underlining scent that he liked. Nick raised his head, blinded by sunlight and lowered himself again, his face turned toward the small puffs of air that were ruffling his air like breath. He felt hands on his waist and shifted- he was on top of someone. Nick's eyes went wide and he looked upward at Gatsby who he was laying on quite… awkwardly. He swallowed, the night's events in his mind very loudly and blurrily. I kissed Gatsby. Multiple times. On the mouth. And… I liked it. Nick tried to untangle himself without disturbing him- headache momentarily forgotten and he was on pins and needles trying to escape his grasp.

He got out of his arms and started pacing. It wasn't that big of a deal, Hell he knew many actresses and actors that were homosexuals. But he hadn't- hadn't had that sort of feelings for Gatsby- at least none that he knew of. Besides, it was a drunken kiss. Multiple kisses. That he… enjoyed. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn!" He said and slapped a hand over his mouth as Gatsby stirred, "Nick?" He grunted, shielding his eyes from the light, "What is it?" He was looking around himself like he had wondered why he had ended up on the couch of all places.

"Nothing." Nick said quickly, walking into his bedroom and closing the door behind him. He slid down the door, staring wide eyed at the bedroom. At least they hadn't done anything else. His lips were dry and he touched them, licking them a bit to put moisture back on them before they ripped painfully only pausing when he tasted Gatsby there. He swallowed, realizing that it explained a lot of things in his life. He wasn't gay, no… but he appreciated the male body. Tom had had drunken sprees with men and women though he'd never admit it. And it wasn't as if that was the first time Nick had ever done anything like that. Yale was an all-boys school. Nick rubbed his eyes, headache returning rapidly. But he'd never thought to do such a thing with Gatsby. There was nothing wrong with it- but- it was Gatsby! Another voice in his head, his conscious he presumed, told him that there wasn't anything wrong with that either. But surely Gatsby wouldn't remember it. And that was for the better. Right? Right.

There was a gentle knock on the door, "Nick… we should talk about last night." Nick flailed angrily and swore silently before getting up. He wondered if he could escape through the window, then let out a long sigh. "I'll be out in a minute."


	7. Chapter 7

He swallowed walking out of the room to see Gatsby staring out the window toward the morning sunrise. His hair was gold, yes, but seemed to take the sun's rays to make it look like it glowed even when it was a bit messy. The shorter had to try very hard to forget that it was his fingers that had caused it to be so disheveled. Nick walked toward him, he'd taken more than just a few minutes to get the courage to walk out of the bedroom and confront him about last night. Homosexuality wasn't a bad thing- he was sure that the conservatives would argue with him but their time was gone and hopefully not soon to return again- and it wasn't as if Gatsby wasn't attractive. It was the matter that over the last few months- nearly a whole year now- Gatsby had been his friend. Only friend, in fact, and that made this complicated. Nick swallowed before clearing his throat. Gatsby turned; an eyebrow raised and opened his mouth. He seemed to falter, his own eyes glancing at Nick's lips. Nick shifted a bit awkwardly underneath his gaze and sighed, "Last night…" He started at the same time Gatsby did and they sighed together before nearly glaring. It was like each other were trying to make this difficult and neither knew what to say. Gatsby finally spoke, "I… had no intention… of having what happened happen."

Nick stiffened a bit, "And you think I did?" The taller of the two shook his head, "No, of course not. We've been… rather heterosexual up until this point and I believe that… we should keep things the same." There was silence in between and Gatsby lamented, "Not that… it wasn't…" Nick nodded, "Completely not, I found it the same." He shrugged and Gatsby looked a bit shocked, "Did you?" Nick shrugged again, "Of course. Not like it was the first time." Gatsby looked confused before just nodding and deciding he wouldn't ask what he meant. Assuming that he meant the drinking, clearly they were on two different topics without Nick's knowledge. "Erm… coffee?" Nick nodded, "Please." And they quickly went their separate ways.

The younger kept to his typing, finding it suddenly very tedious and let out a long moaning sound with his throat after five hours of silence. Gatsby looked up from the book he was reading, the look of confusion still there completely. "Something the matter?" Nick sighed, taking the paper from the type writer and balling it up. "This isn't for me. Clearly I lack something in the creativity center of my brain to do this without be angry at the world or becoming a drunk." Gatsby shifted a bit before shrugging, "We could always get you drunk again." Nick scoffed at him, "Now doesn't that sound pleasant. And I assume we'd be back on the couch again? Or the bedroom? God only knows what fools we'd make of ourselves this time." Immediately after he said it, he winced, "I didn't mean that."

There was a sound of movement and he turned to look at Gatsby, who seemed to avoid looking at him at all while putting the book back on the shelf. "I knew what you meant." Nick opened his mouth and shut it, "It doesn't matter, Nick." Gatsby shrugged, "I enjoyed it. All of it. If you have a problem with that, then… we won't talk about it. Which we agreed upon, so I'll say nothing more." He stayed silent as he watched the man move across the room to pour himself another cup of coffee, drink a bit of it, before pouring it out and going to claim his coat from the rack. "Where are you going?" Nick finally asked and Gatsby paused only a moment, "Out. I'll see you later." Before shutting the door behind him with a snap.

A sudden anger took hold of Nick and he marched after Gatsby. Opening the door and walking out into the hallway. "And if I enjoyed it too- which I'm not saying I did by any means- what would you do? Would we decide to end up doing something together while you haven't gotten over her and I have my own problems? How do you think it would end? Just like before where you thought you could-." Gatsby rounded on him, cutting off his advance completely. "I would make it work. It's not all black and white like you think it is. You don't have to love just one person at one time!"

Nick was silent, looking up at him with a nearly dumbstruck look. What was he saying? That he... He stared up into his blue eyes before Gatsby turned away and marched back down the hallway. For what seemed like an hour to him, was only maybe five minutes, before he too turned and went back into the apartment. His feet were lead as he moved to the couch covering his face in his hands. "You can love more than just one person at one time…"

"Daisy!" Tom called from their bedroom and the young blonde looked up from where she was laying on the couch. Her eyes were tired, little Pammy had had nightmares throughout the night of a bear roaring in the living room. "Daisy!" He called again and she answered tiredly, "Yes, dearest one?" Tom came in, seeing her strewn and leaned to kiss her, "Have you seen my bow tie? The red one with the black dots?" She pointed to their bedroom. "Top drawer, underneath the white shirts." Daisy breathed and laid back down for him to look over her, "You're tired." She nodded yawning behind her hand. "Our angel had a tough night sleeping." Tom captured her chin with his fingers. "Stay here tonight then, don't bother with the party and relax. Have a bath or whatever you ladies to do to rest."

Daisy leaned up to kiss him, "Thank you… Enjoy the party." He promised he would, picking up his jacket and retreating to the bedroom before leaving out. She waited almost ten whole minutes before running to the phone and dialing. A few nights before Tom had drunkenly told her that he'd killed him already. And things would be fine again. Even if he hadn't named Gatsby, the worry in her heart made her nearly mad- but she had to wait. If he knew about the phone call… She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the thoughts of what Tom might do. She dialed slowly, begging to God above that he had just been saying things. That… That she wasn't married to some murderer. Everyone knew they were on vacation and where Tom was going for work- that his family had gone with him. She listened to the phone ring before the line went straight to an operator. The lady claimed that the number was no longer in service and she dropped the phone completely. Tears came to her eyes and she panicked, trying Nick's number only to receive the same thing and then Jordan's. It took a while before she found the right hotel. "Darling, you sound upset, what on Earth happened?" Daisy composed herself, temporarily. "Where's Gatsby and Nick? You remember my cousin?" Jordan scoffed, "All I can tell you is that one day I had a boyfriend, the next I was out of the loop and there was a dead man on the lawn- nearly two from what I hear- Daisy? –Daisy?" She hung up after hearing there was a dead man on the lawn. Daisy crumbled to the ground and she gave a wail that made the nanny and Pammy run in from her bedroom. The elder lady shooed the daughter into the room before coming to Daisy's side. "Mrs. Buchannan? Oh dear, Mrs. Daisy what happened?" She cried hard enough to make angel pause for concern and she gave a scream, "Jay Gatsby's dead! My love is dead!"

Tom looked over the glass of vodka at the man who sat across from him. He hadn't approved the sudden intrusion nor the ladies who immediately fled from his arms- though he doubted he could refuse the man a seat. Meyer Wolfsheim, the criminal from what Tom's circles gossiped about, "I've heard a funny rumor, Mr. Buchannan." Tom watched him warily, knowing if the man knew his name than this certainly wasn't a polite chat about the weather, "Interesting, I didn't know people started rumors about me." Meyer smiled, "Well, some people do like to talk a lot. Ever heard a man named George Wilson?" The man shifted, eying the teeth on the end of Meyer's gray suit that took their place instead of buttons and swallowed, "Might have." The criminal huffed a laugh, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna stick ya for the murder or nothing. But I have to say that an associate of mine wants to find his wife's killer. And she believes it to be your wife, Daisy. See, I help her do certain things for me- my associate. If she finds the killer- not saying it's your wife or nothing- but if she finds the killer I plan to get a large sum of money in return from my associate for helping her out. If I don't fund her now, she won't find her… or him." He smiled with yellowish teeth.

"George Wilson owed you money?" Tom muttered looking around them before shifting, "How much money?" Meyer made a face, "That's my business, but I can tell ya it's no small fortune. And well… if I got my money back… I wouldn't have to fund this gal searching for Myrtle Wilson's killer. Catch the drift I'm giving you?" Tom stirred the drink a little in his hand, staring at it. He knew exactly what he was hinting at and shifted, "Say if… someone paid Wilson's bill… Would you be willing to repay a favor?" Tom asked him softly and Meyer shrugged, "Depends on the favor." Tom leaned in, "If I pay you what Wilson owed, plus interest… Will you find the real Gatsby and kill him. I knew he didn't die. That bastard 'friend' of mine, Nick Carraway saved him- and kept you from getting your money. If I pay you that… Will you kill those two both- make it look like an accident or something- with no loose ends? I don't want this to bite me in the ass later, understand?" Meyer smiled at him, "I'm sure something can be arranged, Mr. Buchannan."


End file.
